


Utter and Complete Freedom

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelcest, M/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: Set during 6.06. Cas runs into Balthazar while making enquiries about Sam.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Like most things in my life at the moment, this is ENTIRELY MISHA COLLINS' FAULT! I mean, come on. If he tells us at [the Asylum 5 convention over Halloween](http://littlehollyleaf.livejournal.com/347367.html) that Balthazar is the angel Castiel lost his virginity to, that's basically a Royal Degree to make it so. Right?

**Utter and Complete Freedom**

 

Castiel stares at the remnants of his latest spell. Another failure.

He can't suppress a sigh and the simple flow of breath through Jimmy Novak's lungs, the tickle in his throat and over his lips, is somehow fulfilling. A physical release of emotion he doesn't have time for, but feels anyway, and has been incapable of expressing for much of the past "year."

It would scare him, he imagines, to think how returning to this vessel has felt more like coming home than his ascent back to Heaven. But he is at war, and he doesn't have time for that either.

Nor does he have time to spend on pointless magic seeking out the truth behind Sam Winchester's return. And yet here he is.

The smoke from the copper bowl in the centre of the pentagram on the floor drifts slowly away, taking with it the acrid smell of charred bone and leaving only the sweet taste of frankincense. He'd flavoured it with ginger to aid the spell's power, making it rich and warm, and Castiel knows the burning of such an amount would leave an aroma overwhelming to human senses.

He breathes in deep, but, while the scent is pleasant, it does nothing.

And yet he remembers... he remembers a time when this would have been strong enough to affect his understanding, even his state of consciousness. A time when simple painkillers had been enough to re-shape his awareness. A hard and painful time he doesn't miss. And yet...

Castiel closes his eyes and breathes in again, slow and deliberate, taking the thickening air all the way inside him and opening himself up to Jimmy as much as possible, following the taste down, feeling the power of it spread through his blood and along every cell to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet.

There's a tingle. Nothing more.

He sighs again, setting the remaining swirl of incense inside him free and ignoring the way his hidden feathers shift in a shrug of disappointment.

When he opens his eyes again there's another angel staring at him from the opposing side of the sigil, her rouged lips curved not in joy but unshakable conviction in the superiority of her beliefs. Her long blonde hair has been scraped into a bun at the back of her head and she wears a black suit and tie - a uniform, of sorts, all Raphael's followers appear to have adopted for their time on Earth.

Her right hand is already curling round her blade before Castiel can reach for his and he curses his stupidity. Failed or not, his spell was strong, he should have anticipated someone would discern it and track it back to him. He has others who rely on him now, he should have been more careful, he should have planned for this.

Instead of thinking of green eyes dulled in anguish and how badly he wishes to ease their pain.

"Sister -" he tries, lifting his palms.

But she is already moving, upturning the bowl as she lunges. Flecks of ash and melted incense splash over the chalk and cooling wax on the boards below and Castiel lifts his arms before his face, defenceless.

The blow never comes.

Castiel lowers his arms and blinks. Inches away from him, arm outstretched, the tip of her blade a breath away from his heart, is a solid statue of the angel as she had been only seconds before. Hesitantly, he touches a hand to her face and finds it cold. No blood. No life. No grace. Everything the other was, angel and vessel together, is gone and only stone remains.

"Handy little trick, isn't it?"

Castiel turns slowly. Not that he fears the owner of this voice - he couldn't, despite everything, not after all they've been through - but whatever Balthazar has... acquired... that can turn an angel into stone must be immensely powerful, and incredibly dangerous.

"No need to worry," the other adds, tone soft and lilting. Balthazar was always the calmest of the garrison but his time on Earth has made him positively sedate. A serenity that, in many ways, Castiel envies, but finds hard to condone considering their family's current trouble. "You're perfectly safe."

Balthazar is smiling when Castiel finally comes to face him, thin lips spread warm and wide across his face, once again decked in the long, black satin jacket and grey vest of before, both of them, along with his black slacks, hanging loose over his vessel's slender frame. But not because the clothes don't matter, like Castiel has always felt about Jimmy's, no - Castiel thinks Balthazar has chosen his outfit carefully, made sure to pick fabrics that will be as unobtrusive as possible, designed for maximum ease and relaxation.

He's certainly relaxed now. Jovial, in fact. A happiness so very out of place given their last meeting, which had put them so clearly at odds, and yet Castiel is heartened by it nonetheless, touched by the love evident in all parts of the gaze - the softening at the corners of Balthazar's blue-grey eyes, the easy tilt of his head. No brother or sister has ever looked at him like this. Not Uriel. Not even Anna in her softest times. And even before leaving Heaven Balthazar's loyalty had been greater, the other angel always standing by him, no matter what, even speaking out, at great personal risk, against Castiel's incarceration when Zachariah had him dragged back home for trying to warn Dean about the final seal. For years Balthazar has been his rock, constantly at his side.

Until he wasn't.

Castiel catches movement beneath the other's jacket and sees Balthazar slip something small and dark into his pocket - the means of their sister's petrifaction - and reminds himself that however kindly Balthazar seems, this is not the brother he knew.

"This is your doing?" he asks, nodding to the statue and pressing on without waiting for an answer. It's not like he needs one. "How? Heaven has nothing capable of such power."

"True, true," Balthazar agrees, still smiling. "But this thievery thing, well..." He lifts a shoulder, the movement lazy. "It grows on you. And there is _so much_ out there." His eyes sharpen, a conceit building there Castiel still struggles to reconcile with the devoted soldier he remembers, as Balthazar waves a hand to indicate the enormity of treasures open to his felony.

Castiel turns away. Disturbed. On one hand it is a great thing to see a brother actually embracing the free will god's absence has left them. But for Balthazar to use it for _this_ \- petty acts of self-indulgence... Castiel shakes his head. He expected better.

"Is she dead?" he asks, glancing back over his shoulder at the leaping form.

"Oh, quite," is the answer. Smooth. Unrepentant. But also clear, and cultured. Refined. A British accent that suits Balthazar, Castiel thinks. Or that would, if he were to use it to talk of things less base than theft and banal attempts at humour.

His silence must have stretched, because the next thing Castiel knows Balthazar is moving up beside him and following his gaze to the statue. Castiel sees no regret in his friend's - former friend's? - expression, but as Balthazar turns from his destruction the lines of age across his vessel's brow grow deeper.

"It was her or you, Cas," he states.

Castiel stares. Despite this moment of sorrow, there is no shame in Balthazar's eyes. Indeed, there is a vitality there, a love of life that stands in contrast to his aging vessel and makes the man seem youthful again. Skin glowing, healthy and pink, softer and brighter than it has been in a long time.

Castiel looks away, Jimmy Novak's young bones suddenly heavy, heart pumping wearily and slow.

"I know..." he mutters. "But there should be another way."

Balthazar shakes his head, the last of his smile finally dissolving.

"There isn't, you know," he says, and the words drop deep into Jimmy's stomach, settling there like a dead weight. "Everything you're trying to do, all your effort - it's pointless. It won't change anything."

Castiel snaps his head up, eyes narrowing as he chooses anger over listening. At least this way he doesn't risk hearing the truth in the other's words.

"Why are you here, Balthazar?" he demands.

Balthazar doesn't even flinch.

"Felt your spell," he answers, nodding to the marks on the floor. "Knew it was you, of course. No one else can weave an incantation half as well. You always were the scholar..."

This time the smile is smaller and Castiel dares to imagine it genuinely fond. He remembers the two of them learning magic together, an age ago. Balthazar never had the patience for blending ingredients or finding poetry in the right combination of words. But he'd been handy with a blade, slicing up plants or fighting dark creatures for their blood. Simpler times that Castiel wishes, violently, all of a sudden, they could return to. He thinks the human term for the feeling is 'nostalgia.'

"Anyway, I thought I'd drop by. You know, see how you were doing," Balthazar finishes with a shrug.

Castiel wants to believe him. But thinks it just as likely the other came seeking new powers to steal.

"I'm fine," he responds turning to leave.

Balthazar is in front of him again before he can try, head dropping down to meet Castiel's gaze.

"You're not though, are you?"

The words blow warm against Castiel's cheek and it takes more effort than he expects to back away from them.

"What does it matter to you anyway?" he snaps.

A wave of tension moves up Balthazar's previously serene body, dark lines etching across his face and standing in contrast to his dusty brown - lightly greying - hair.

"I still care, Castiel."

He sounds accusatory, but Castiel doesn't bow to the tone. Instead he purses his lips, remembers months of mourning after Balthazar's 'death,' with only two humans and a futile search for an absent father to distract him, and thinks _not enough_.

"I have responsibilities. I must go," he states, stepping forward and away.

He shouldn't. He knows this. He should take advantage of Balthazar's presence and press the other angel for more information on his stolen weapons. Fight him for them if necessary, because there is so much at stake.

But Castiel is tired of fighting his friends.

"Why?" Balthazar calls behind him.

Castiel rolls his eyes, the thin, reedy tone reminding him of Sam's irritating voicemails.

"So I can tend to them," he mutters back.

"Of course. Yes," Balthazar agrees. "But I meant more philosophically. Why you, Cas? Why is it _your_ responsibility to re-order Heaven?"

"Because no one else will!" Castiel swirls round, pain and fear merging together in a flash of rage, burning straight from Jimmy's heart and into his grace. "They are all too mindless. Or too scared." He narrows his eyes. "Or too _selfish_." He leaves a poignant pause. "And as you said yourself, our father is _gone_ -"

"So that's it?" Balthazar interrupts with a chuckle and a bob of his head that only infuriates Castiel further. "You wish to be god?"

"No!" Castiel cries, stepping closer, enough throttle the other angel if he so chose. "Of course not! I just - I -"

He falters, anger and exhaustion fighting for dominance.

Balthazar lifts an eyebrow, all calm and kind and _here_ and _alive_. Not looking for guidance or leadership or advice, just being, _with_ him, as an equal and without agenda. Or, at least, without an agenda that matters right now.

Exhaustion wins out and Castiel slumps forward, head dropping.

"I just want... to make things _better_ ," he breathes.

A gentle hand soothes round his neck, holding him steady.

"I know, brother. I know..." Balthazar sighs against his forehead. "Come on. Come with me."

Another hand brushes his hip, fingers gripping there, and Castiel feels the air about them shift. He jerks back and around and finds they are somewhere quite different. It's a penthouse of some kind, the lights dim. There's a familiar looking piano in one corner - Castiel wonders if it's the same he found Balthazar beside before - strange, twisting sculptures line the walls and a large bed with black and white sheets stretches out beside them.

Castiel stares at the pillows and cushions at the head, wondering what depravities his companion has enacted over them in his quest for new experience.

He's so deep in contemplation he doesn't notice at first the firm circles being drawn between his shoulder blades. Not until an especially talented twist elicits a moan as a ball of tension there drains away.

"What are you doing?" he mutters, fighting to keep his eyes open and surprised how unconcerned he feels at this development. This could be a trick... and yet, somehow, he doesn't think so. Somehow, he knows he's safe here.

Because, regardless of everything else, of what Balthazar has become, when Raphael's weapon was raised and Castiel needed him - he _came back_.

"I'm checking these aren't broken," Balthazar answers, sliding his hands up Castiel's shoulders. "Really, Cas, the burden you place on them, it's a wonder you can stand at all beneath the weight."

Balthazar's fingers press and pinch, small and strong. A pressure that cuts easily through the layers of shirt and trenchcoat, and makes the nerve endings of Castiel's vessel _dance_. A wealth of sensation that grows with every touch, already so much stronger than he'd gained for himself through the frankincense.

Castiel's leaning back before he's even aware of it, but once he is he stops and holds himself rigid, undoing all his brother's work in an instant.

"Balthazar, I -" he starts.

"Oh, hush," Balthazar whispers against his temple, continuing his administrations as though nothing has changed, slowly and carefully re-tracing the parts of Castiel he'd softened before and stroking away the new tensions as they form. "This isn't a trick, Cas. I didn't bring you here to make you my prisoner. Leave if you want, but -" He moves round, hands trailing over Castiel's collarbone as he grips his shoulders from the other side, lips parted to breathe hot air down his brother's neck, sweeter and richer than the incense before. "You can spare a few minutes, can't you? Just a few? Just for this...?" He draws his left hand up, soft fingers caressing Castiel's jaw and gently tilting his head, locking their gaze. "I've really got quite good at it, you know," he presses, rocking forward. "Let me show you..."

Castiel parts his lips to say _no, no I don't have the time_ , but Balthazar closes them again with his own, kissing him feather-soft. And _oh_ , the _feel_ of it - warm, like a blanket of embers, enveloping him but also sending tendrils of sharp sparks down his veins, as through to say look, there are flames buried here, set them free...

There's no telling how long they stay that way, but time must have past because the next thing Castiel is conscious of he's kissing back, hands already twisted in the threadbare hem of Balthazar's vest. Thoughts of the war and mysterious resurrections and burning green rush back to him but all Castiel takes from the memories are that, for however many glorious seconds, they were _gone_. He pulls himself closer to Balthazar's vessel in an effort to lose them again, opening his mouth in tandem with the other angel's to better breathe in his scent.

Balthazar hums a laugh down his throat that Castiel half-flinches at because it sounds so smug. Only then Balthazar's tongue presses in against his own, wet and demanding, and Castiel forgets to be angry.

The other's easy-going appearance is deceiving, Castiel fast realises, because the kiss grows deep and sure, Balthazar's quick hands slipping deftly under Castiel's trenchcoat and pulling his hips so their bodies slot together. He doesn't doubt the competence Balthazar claims - it's clear his brother has much practice at this. And it's a relief, more than anything. A paradoxical freedom, having another take control, no longer bearing the burden of decision. He is not required to be strong here, there are no lives or future kingdoms weighing heavy in his hands, he can just be.

When Balthazar rubs up, leisurely, into Castiel's groin, though, the large and gaudy buckle of his belt pressing sharply below Castiel's own, more modest, one, that's different. Suddenly the other angel is a singly solid and physical presence and Castiel can feel his body - Jimmy's body - responding in kind, blood thickening until he feels himself pulse and swell. It's a change that takes him straight back to that fallen, claustrophobic time of ebbing power and loss and being trapped in a world he couldn't hope to understand and he pulls away in panic. This is taking loss of control far too far.

But Balthazar doesn't let him go. His fingers dig tight into Castiel's sides, keeping them close, so all Castiel can feel is their blood throbbing together and _he can't sense his grace_ , not even a bit. Balthazar has succeeded where Castiel's half-hearted experiment with the frankincense hadn't and it reminds the former exile of all the reasons why his casting out of Heaven is _not_ a state he wishes to return to.

"Balthazar, stop," he demands, although, in truth, it is more of a plea. Small and desperate. "Let me go. I don't -"

"But you _do_ , Cas," Balthazar drawls, absurdly at ease in the face of Castiel's fear. "You don't even realise how much..."

He leans further in and there's nowhere to go, so Castiel must suffer it, breath turning fast and shallow - except he doesn't need oxygen, does he? Doesn't he? It seems an important requirement just now.

"You spent all that time down here," Balthazar is continuing, one hand slipping lower and pressing between them. "But I know you, Cas. You didn't try anything, did you? Not even once?"

Castiel's mind flashes back to the den of inequity he'd visited and the scantily clad woman Dean had offered him, past and present panic fusing together. He shakes his head, heart pounding too hard to let him speak.

Balthazar's lips flatten in sympathy, eyes cool as they meet Castiel's wide and frantic ones. Hardly the look of a captor, and he'd promised Castiel wasn't a prisoner, hadn't he? Hadn't he said Castiel was free to go? Or was that a lie, after all?

He's nearly ready to fight his way out of this when Balthazar moves his lips to his ear, light strands of moustache tickling the shell. And when Balthazar opens his mouth to speak Castiel feels something cool and calm reach out to him at the same time, a caress behind and within him, the stroke of feathers against feathers and grace against grace.

"Relax, Cas," Balthazar says.

And Castiel does. Completely. Sagging against his brother and breathing out deep in relief. After so long without human sensation knowing it again had overwhelmed him, but the heat and the pressure are far from all there is, he can feel that now. Balthazar hadn't trapped him, he was _guiding_ him, drawing him back to the physical but keeping the connection to their true forms open, free for them to escape to, any time.

"It's about time you learnt what you've been missing, don't you think?"

A light scratch of stubble against Castiel's cheek accompanies the question - a smile into his skin. It's leading, yes, but it's still a question, and Balthazar is not so cocky as to press on without an answer.

Castiel turns his head, fear forgotten, and lifts a palm to Balthazar's cheek. He runs a thumb down his brother's lips and chin, circling the pad through the small, dark tuft of beard there and smiles a little at feeling the other this way instead of the ephemeral he's used to. It's Balthazar still, their entwining grace confirms that, but it's also _more_. A compelling mix of the familiar and the unknown. And now the physical is not being forced on him Castiel remembers the good parts as well, how a touch can be enticing and taste can bring raptures. Why is it he _hasn't_ tried this before? And who better for a first time than one he's known and trusted since time began?

He presses in as an answer, experimenting, feeling Balthazar's lips out with his own and licking past them to taste him, vibrating a message through their essence as he lets it blend. _Yes, brother. Yes..._

Balthazar half-hums, half-growls back in satisfaction, squeezing hard between Castiel's legs.

Castiel chokes back a cry at the rush of feeling at the touch, sudden fire bursting from the place and flaring out, down his legs and up his chest, wild and free. And yet, when Balthazar loosens his hand it ebbs - a taster, only, of what could be, wiping Castiel's mind of anything but _want_ and _more_.

He thrusts up, jerkily, imitating Balthazar's move before, and receives only brief, inadequate friction and another rumble of laughter for his trouble.

"Easy," Balthazar murmurs into his cheek. "Let me..."

Balthazar's nimble fingers scrape up Castiel's pants, popping the button at the top and snaking inside, down the coarse boxers beneath until they're wrapped tightly round Castiel's skin, twisting and pulling and stroking and doing all manner of sinful things that make Castiel gasp and shudder.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Balthazar notes as he licks hot kisses down Castiel's jaw.

Castiel can't answer, can only grip his brother tight, one hand at his shoulder, the other twisting and re-twisting the fabric at his waist. Because he is lost, _drowning_ , in sensation, eyelids pressed tight together because the dual assault of vision _as well as this_ is too much.

"Bal - Baltha -" he tries. A warning, though he isn't sure for what.

"It's alright, brother," Balthazar soothes, ending his kisses and straightening instead, free hand moving up Castiel's neck and threading through his hair. Castiel is outright shaking now so he's glad of the hold, ducking his head in the dip of Balthazar's collarbone to better centre himself. "I'm here. I have you," Balthazar adds, gently petting the stray locks his fingers have twisted in while his other hand continues it's steady up and down motion, breaking Castiel apart a little more every time.

It's strange. The build had felt delicious at first, a slow climb Castiel couldn't get enough of. But now it's _so_ strong Castiel is almost afraid of it, scared he's come too high and the only way down is to fall and shatter. His body responds to the fear, muscles tensing to flee, but that only makes it worse because a body can't escape itself.

He could leave this vessel, though. Perhaps...

As though sensing the thought - and perhaps he does, perhaps Castiel broadcast it, he can't tell - Balthazar slows his hand and presses a soft kiss to Castiel's brow.

"Cas. _Cas_. You're so _close_. And so soon." The indolent lilt to his voice is gone now, replaced by conviction. His words sound like an order, and the part of Castiel still answering to 'soldier' longs to obey. "You need this, you know you do. Stop fighting and let yourself go..."

Castiel wants to, he wants to _so much_ , but he doesn't know how. His vessel has become a tight, twisted thing he can't seem to unravel, can only follow the tension on and on.

Balthazar draws his hand from Castiel's neck to between his shoulder blades, extending himself just slightly so he can stroke the join of Castiel's wings even as he massages Jimmy's muscles. Castiel appreciates the tempering of his physical ache this allows, and flares his grace in thanks, but it isn't enough.

"Here," Balthazar whispers. "Perhaps this will help."

There's snap and a sudden coolness against his skin and Castiel realises Balthazar has removed their clothes. The skin-on-skin contact intensifies the fire between them, but only for a moment, because then Balthazar is pulling away, hand stopping completely.

This should be a relief, but instead it's torture, the ache of Balthazar's absence somehow a hundred times stronger than his touch.

Only Balthazar _isn't_ absent, he's merely kneeling down, both palms pressing flat and hot round Castiel's hips as he opens his mouth and swallows down.

This new pleasure hits hard and Castiel cries out at the shock of it, hands flying to Balthazar's shoulders to stop himself collapsing.

"Ah! Ah..."

Balthazar can't talk, but Castiel hears him anyway, leading him on with language deeper than words.

_Yes. Like that. Come now, brother. Come for me._

Castiel echoes him as he feels himself draw to a climax.

"Yes... yes..."

Balthazar's thumbs rub into the soft flesh of Castiel's stomach over and over, mixing an extra, tantalising friction to the velvet heat around his cock and Castiel feels a sudden rush, then nothing but wave after wave of white heat layered with the sound of his own voice. He knows he's shouting something, but he can't make out what over the utter shock and freedom of the thing, the link to his true form fading as the draw of the physical consumes him and he rides it to completion.

The corners of the world start to diminish after that and he barely feels the shudder as Balthazar pulls off and straightens up, holding Castiel steady as his body continues to shake in short, decreasing bursts.

The last Castiel knows is soft sheets at his back and a short 'hmmm' as his brother settles him on the bed, then it's just warm, peaceful black stretching out into infinity.

~*~

Infinity, it turns out, is not very long.

All too soon Castiel's consciousness returns, bringing his former troubles along with it in the form of a loud, persistent voice coming from nowhere in particular.

_Cas. **Cas**. Are you listening? I said you gotta get down here, Sam's... he's... look, I don't know, okay? There was this cat goddess and she said... she said he wasn't even human. Whatever's wrong with him, it's big, and I don't... He's just not right, you know? I don't mean physically, I mean - though actually he does look pretty crap right now, but that's - Just get here. **Fast**. I need you. _

Castiel half-wishes he'd never told the brothers he can hear their prayers, nor that the sigils over their ribs are gone - Sam's when he was pulled from the Pit, and Dean's when Castiel healed him at Stull Cemetery - allowing him to find them again when they call.

Nevertheless, he sits up at Dean's last cry, concerned in spite of his frustration.

Warm fabric drops into his lap as he rises, exposing his bare chest, and he remembers where he is.

"Yes, you better answer. He's been calling for hours," a voice drawls beside him.

A twist of his head reveals Balthazar sprawled out across the other side of the bed, one hand pillowed behind his head, the other holding the thin tip of a smoking cigarette to his lips. Unlike Castiel he's above the covers with pants and belt back on, the skin of his chest delicate and pale in the surrounding lamplight.

As Castiel watches he puts the cigarette to his mouth, closes his eyes and breathes deep, making the smouldering end spit and glow. Scented smoke billows out of him - too sweet to be simply tobacco - as he speaks again, not bothering to raise his eyelids.

"Demanding little ape, isn't he?"

Castiel frowns. He'd thought the two of them might have fostered something here; re-established old connections or even... even forged some new ones.

But the derision in Balthazar's tone suggests otherwise and Castiel supposes it should be no surprise. Fortification is nothing new to his brother any more, so what is more of it but another conquest?

He propels himself from the bed and gathers his clothes in second, stopping only to glare down at the other from beyond the bedside table.

"He is my friend," he says, firmly, of Dean. "And has suffered a great deal. It was wrong to neglect him."

Somewhere between passing his lips and crossing the air the words gain a double meaning Castiel can't tell if he intended or not.

In any case, Balthazar blinks his eyes open in response and for once the gaze that meets Castiel's is focused and sombre. They hold like this for a moment, the other's cigarette slowly turning to ash between his fingers.

Then Balthazar takes a breath and sits up, stubbing the filter out in a grubby ashtray on the cabinet beside him before lifting the crystal tumbler next to it, murky brown liquid swishing inside.

"Perhaps..." he acknowledges as he takes a sip, eyes flicking down. "Even so. It hardly gives him the right to put you at his beck and call."

There's a pause, then Castiel nods.

"No," he agrees. "But I promised him help in this..."

"Ah," Balthazar smiles round his glass. "Your spell," he continues, looking up. "You want to know who freed Lucifer's vessel."

Castiel narrows his eyes.

"Do you know?" he asks, voice turning sharp.

But Balthazar shakes his head, shifting so his legs are crossed, back sagging against the pillows.

"No," he answers, perfectly candid. "And frankly, Cas. I don't care."

Castiel softens. The answer is disappointing, in more ways than one, but it's the truth.

He should leave now, he supposes. It seems there's nothing left for him here. But even so, he is loath to sever this link, tenuous though it is, to the one brother he shares more with than enmity or reluctant allegiance.

"You, though... You really do, don't you?" Balthazar adds, cutting into his thoughts. When Castiel looks over, the other's lips and eyebrows are twisted - half in question, half bemusement. "They _matter_ to you, these humans."

Castiel knows he can't even begin to explain his relationship with Sam and Dean to one who wasn't there, who didn't fight beside them, share their pride and their strength and the all consuming _love_ that Heaven _thinks_ it possesses but, in truth, has no concept of at all.

So he keeps it simple.

"Yes."

Balthazar smiles - large and wide and without understanding.

"Best get going then."

Castiel turns to do just that, wings spreading easily, grace thrumming. It's been a long time since he's felt this eager and awareness of it makes him pause. There can be only one reason for his rejuvenation and while Castiel has been a lot of things, ungrateful is not one of them. And their time together here was _good_ , there's no denying that. A memory that will linger, whatever happens, because it is a part of him now. The start of a new era.

"Balthazar..." he starts, turning back. He struggles for a second as he searches for the right words. Nothing seems to fit. "Thank you," he ends instead.

Balthazar's smile grows warmer, and yet, his eyes seem to dull, the deep-set blue in them lost to billows of grey.

"My pleasure," he answers, lifting his glass in a toast.

He's missing something here, Castiel realises. But what?

"I would be glad... to see you again," he tries. "I could... um..." He struggles again with the necessary terminology, lips folding together.

"Repay the favour?" Balthazar completes, pressing on with a throaty chuckle. "Heh. No. I think not."

The bluntness of the refusal _hurts_ in a way Castiel doesn't expect, so he snaps back, accusing, in an effort to distract from the feeling.

"I don't understand. You're the one who brought me here. Was it simply for this? To discard me when you were done?"

When Balthazar looks up this time his face is slack, eyes wide with surprise.

"No," he states, holding his glass between his legs so he can lean forward. "Of course not. No. I brought you here because, you know, I hoped... We were so close in Heaven, after all, so I thought perhaps... But, well, not to be, I suppose."

Balthazar's piecemeal use of language, trailing off mid-sentence - lack of vocabulary or simple boredom, Castiel can't be certain - only serves to obfuscate the issue further. Castiel blinks, bewildered.

"We're brothers, that's all," Balthazar adds, seemingly as clarification. "You made that quite clear."

Castiel tilts his head.

"I did?"

The corner of Balthazar's mouth flicks up as he looks down again, eyes tracing the liquid in his glass as he uses both hands to swirl it.

"Funny thing, passion," he mutters. "People say all sorts of things in the throes of it. You wouldn't believe what I've heard. Lies. Obscenities." His eyes flick up. "Secrets."

Castiel stills, shoulders tensing. Secrets are something he has plenty of at the moment - the strongholds of his brothers and sisters in arms; tactics for their fight; weaknesses on Raphael's side. Could he really have given away something vital without realising it? Or worse, could it be this has been Balthazar's plan all along?

"I wondered, when I brought you here, I wondered what you'd say," the other continues, nodding to himself with the recollection. "I mean, your first time, and in such a _long_ time, Cas. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself." He frees a hand to reach out, palm outstretched and placating. "And I say that with affection, I really do. I can hardly judge, the nonsense I spouted during my first attempt. But you..." His fingers shift slightly into a point before his arm drops, hand curling round his right knee. "You'd be better, I knew you would." His lips spread out. "You were always so noble. So, no, I knew, wherever your passion took you, it could only be the truth."

Castiel opens his mouth. Then falters. A 'v' creases into his forehead as he tethers between concern and relief, because there's no malice in Balthazar's words, no threat, and yet _something_ has been exposed that shouldn't have been.

"What did I say?" Castiel asks eventually, opting, as always when he is uncertain, for directness.

"Not much," Balthazar shrugs, untangling his legs and swinging them to the ground. "Just a name."

He stands up, downs the remainder of his drink and returns the glass to the bedside cabinet with a smack of his lips.

"Needless to say, it wasn't mine," he finishes, meeting Castiel's gaze with a cool, if somewhat melancholy, one of his own.

Castiel's on the verge of asking 'what name?' when they're interrupted.

_Goddamn it, Cas! Stop dicking around, I'm waiting!_

The pause after this seems very long.

"Go," Balthazar nods once the age has past. "It's where you want to be."

He turns and reaches across the cabinet, busying himself with opening a flat, silver container and examining the collection of artfully rolled cigarettes inside. Allowing Castiel to leave unobserved. Although for whose benefit this is Castiel isn't sure.

"I'm sorry," he blurts without thinking to Balthazar's back.

"What?" Balthazar mutters, face creasing up. "Whatever for?"

He turns, catches Castiel's expression, and rolls his eyes.

"Oh, really Cas, don't be ridiculous," he says, sharp but not unkind. "Whatever I think on the matter, you can't help how you feel."

This gives Castiel pause, because the philosophy is so foreign, such a contrast to the way things used to be when emotions were closely guarded in Heaven.

But despite the laws Michael enforced after Lucifer's casting out, emotions _can't_ be controlled, not by humans or angels or anyone. He's learnt that first hand. And was abruptly reminded of the fact when his search for the Staff of Moses put him back into contact with the brothers, with Dean, and dredged up all he has been trying to quash for the sake of the war.

Another reason to resent Balthazar, perhaps even _more_ than for faking his death - a secrecy Castiel can at least sympathise with, despite his disapproval. Because Castiel's battle-hardened methods had never touched him so keenly as when examining that young boy's soul, Dean Winchester's eyes watching his every move, the hunter's emotions, as always, thrumming just below the surface, awakening Castiel's own.

And Sam, too - young, heartfelt Sam, whose love for his brother had been enough to overcome the Morningstar - he had been there and... and felt nothing.

Or so it had seemed from his expression.

Castiel frowns.

No. That couldn't be right.

Dean felt much, but knew how to rein it in. A skill learnt from his father, but honed to perfection during his time in Hell. Making him a constantly wound spring - still and controlled on the outside, but ready to explode in unpredictable ways at a moment's notice.

Sam, though. Sam had no such discipline. Sam wore his emotions on his sleeve - as the saying went - and never baulked at exposing them.

Could this be a clue to what was wrong with the man? No wonder all Castiel's spells and enquiries had come to nothing if the answer lay within Sam himself. He would need to examine him in person to be sure, but...

"Go."

Castiel blinks at the word and is ashamed to find himself still in his brother's dwelling with Balthazar watching him.

But Balthazar isn't angry, he's smiling - small, unassuming curves on both sides of his lips.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again," he adds.

Castiel feels his lips curving gently in return. If they do meet again it will more than likely be in opposition, but even so -

"I would like that, brother," he answers, before flying to Dean's side.

 

~ **fin** ~


End file.
